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Work Day at Chilocco and we are running to get the cake frosted, the other few dishes into the car so
we will at least make it for the noon meal. Flower seeds hanging on the pantry door saved from last years beds are grabbed in haste without even looking to see which ones they are.
A brief stop at the dollar store in Newkirk yielded a great buy on Zennia seeds so I pulled those off the rack. The friendly chatty clerk in small town fashion noticed we were strangers and asked.
“Sure is a beautiful day, a good one for planting flowers?” She was smiling and cheerful even though I
could see she was close to my age but, nevertheless, here at the check out stand working.
“Oh yes,” I answered, “we are on our way to Chilocco. Maybe these will come up!”
“I see your alumni is getting ready for your meeting. You’re holding it on campus this year?”
“Oh yes! And it is a long awaited great thing to happen. I’m so looking forward to it. Come on
up. The eighth of June is the day of the pow-wow. Everyone always enjoys that.” I invited her.
“Well, I might just do that” and then, we were out the door and off.
The gate on large roller wheels was unlocked and did give way to my tugging and pushing as Rod drove the car through.
The people who have the lease, O.S.U., were at work with the large grinding machine, cutting dead
limbs and trees along that long drive from the arch onto the school campus. Someone looked to have painted the cement bridge over the rippling waters of the lake made that way from breezes off the ever
windy prairie.
“Campus is so beautiful, and look how well it is mown!” Never mind the tug on my heart strings as old memories as always came back to me.
The day went so well. The work was admittedly done by everyone else. My contribution of cooking the different dishes left my body listless and I hung around the Student Union while everyone was out
working on the cemetery. My last memory of that was of my brother on his back hoe cleaning up trees
growing there. I wasn’t up to anymore for this day.
Engaging me in conversation was the guard who whizzed up while I was hoeing weeds from around Mr. Correll’s office. I was glad to see him although I wondered about what my brother told me.
“There is such sensitive equipment in use they can see a lady bug crawling across the campus at night, no less.” And we laughed about that. I now chuckled to myself, “Well, the lady bug is caught, If indeed, there are spirits here, I’m not worried. Mr. Correll will set him straight.”
Sure enough, one of my relatives who has been in police work all his life, came walking up, too.
“This is my relation of the Ponca Tribe, “ I introduced him to the guard. “He is one of our elders, although I’m not sure he wants to be known to be that.” Old Indian tricks die hard and I purposely
had to ask my cousin his name. One who is called my Uncle through our relationship looked at me with all kinds of emotions on his normally quiet face.
“Has she lost her mind?” I could hear him thinking. “She knows me!” His police education on the study of the Anglo didn’t keep him in the ways and wiles of our folks and I’m feeling so guilty for going back to the time when those of our tribe protected each other from the powers that be by claiming somewhat anonymous acquaintance.
“It must be this strange atmosphere of something like a portal to another time, all around me. Shame on you Donna, ” I’m thinking to myself, but still silently laughing.